


the best is always with you

by asael



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domesticity, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24689029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asael/pseuds/asael
Summary: Dimitri hasn't always had an easy time of it, but he's finally found a place where he can be happy - and where he can make the man he loves happy, too.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 32
Kudos: 170





	the best is always with you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [himboprince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/himboprince/gifts).



> This was written for Frey, thank you so so much!

Dimitri’s favorite thing about grocery shopping was picking out fruit.

There was just something deeply satisfying about finding a peach at just the right stage of ripeness, or choosing the perfect berries for a dessert he was planning to make. When he was able to, he liked to go to the farmer’s market - they always had the best, freshest fruit and he could get into long conversations about what was in season. But even just going to the store was nice.

Partly it was because he’d gotten good at it, which made it even more satisfying. But it was also because Claude really liked fruit, and that was such a small and easy way to make him happy.

Claude wasn’t even remotely a health nut - before they moved in together and Dimitri decided he was now in charge of dinner, Claude had been known to order takeout three or four days in a row, surviving off leftovers for the rest of the week because he hadn’t managed to make it to the store. He was more of a foodie than anything (though he hated the term), always interested in trying out new things.

But Claude’s favorite snack, as long as Dimitri had known him, had been fresh fruit.

The first time they’d met, when they were at college together, Claude had given Dimitri a mandarin orange. They’d been studying in the library in separate carrels, right next to each other, Dimitri puzzling over a dense article about the economics of small import-export businesses and Claude whizzing through his chemistry homework. It was late, Dimitri hadn’t had dinner, and his stomach rumbled embarrassingly loudly.

Claude leaned over, slipped an orange onto his desk, and smiled at him. They’d talked a little, and later gotten coffee together, and - well, the rest was history.

Dimitri had quickly learned that, given the choice between candy and fruit, Claude would choose fruit. He’d tucked it away into his mental file of Claude facts, to be pulled out later - like now, when he was in charge of the grocery shopping. In charge of household tasks in general, actually.

That was by choice. Three years at his father’s company had been enough to push him to the edge - his business degree had prepared him for the work itself, but it had quickly become clear that Dimitri was not suited for the cutthroat, profit-focused nature of that world. He’d pushed for better wages for their employees, more charitable efforts. He’d asked them to hire more broadly. He’d wanted to make the company _better_ , he’d wanted to believe that they could become a leader. Could make the world a better place.

But though they’d listened to his ideas politely - how could they not, as the son of the late founder? - nothing had ever been implemented. He’d been placated, shot down, told that they simply couldn’t do something that might cut into profits so much.

And when Dimitri asked if profits were really all that mattered to them, they’d looked at him like he was stupid.

He’d held out for awhile longer after that, but the last straw had come when news broke that one of their factories had been polluting the watershed around it for years. Dimitri had been furious, had demanded a full cleanup and long-term support for the low-income community they’d poisoned, most of whom had worked at the factory. He got instead a few empty gestures, a ‘renewed commitment to clean operations’, and a rebuke from the board.

He’d had - a bit of a breakdown. More than a bit. It had all come crashing down, all the burdens he’d been carrying for years, the disappointment, the destruction of the ideals he’d held so close.

He’d really believed that he could make a difference in that place.

So he’d resigned. They would have to run Blaiddyd Industries without a Blaiddyd.

Claude had stood by him the whole time, supporting his anger, his crumbling mental health, his breakdowns as he realized there was nothing he could do. It had been Claude, in fact, who’d looked at him one morning and said, “Maybe you should just quit.”

Until that moment, Dimitri had never considered it. He’d been raised knowing he would succeed his father, take over the company, continue building Blaiddyd Industries larger and larger. When his father died, that had become even more pressing - carry on the name, carry on the legacy. No one had ever really seriously asked if he wanted to do anything else, and he knew that if they had he wouldn’t have been able to answer. This was what he’d been born to do.

But Claude made it sound so easy, with that way he had, and Dimitri had begun to see things a little differently. It was Claude’s support, Claude’s clear thinking, that had made it possible for him to quit - to even realize that he _could_.

He knew even now that he was incredibly lucky, incredibly privileged. He could have quit even without Claude’s support - he had a sizeable inheritance, enough to live comfortably without working for the rest of his life. He hadn’t _needed_ to move in with Claude, and he still insisted on providing his share of the household expenses.

But he’d wanted to. While he’d been working, it had felt safer to keep Claude at a distance. So often Dimitri felt fragile, felt like he might fall apart at any moment. He hadn’t wanted to inflict that on Claude, who had his own burdens to carry. It had already been too easy to go to Claude when he needed comfort, too easy to lean on him. Claude had disagreed - it had been something they’d fought about, one of the few things - but Dimitri had been certain he would only drag Claude down.

Now, though his burdens were not gone, they felt much more manageable. He’d finally been able to give in to what he wanted - give in to his desire to fall asleep with Claude in his arms, wake up to him every morning. They went out for dinner occasionally, spent time together on the weekends, and Dimitri - Dimitri got to take care of him.

It might not be forever. He was still considering his options, talking them over with his therapist (another thing he’d finally accepted might be helpful after his breakdown). He had money and certain useful skills, after all, and there might be some good he could do in the world. But he wasn’t ready. Not yet.

For now, he was - well, Sylvain had jokingly called him a _househusband_. He and Claude were not married, at least not yet, but Dimitri could admit that the title didn’t feel so wrong.

Claude woke up early every morning. His job at a nearby nonprofit devoted to fostering Almyran-Fódlan relations required a lot of early morning calls and video conferences, thanks to the time difference between their countries. Dimitri had never had a problem getting up early, so these days he rose with Claude even though he didn’t need to. He made Claude coffee, and though Claude wasn’t much of a breakfast eater, he tried to make sure Claude at least took a breakfast bar or a piece of fruit with him on the way out of the house.

He’d grown fond of it, just as he’d grown fond of catching Claude at the door and pulling him close for a kiss, a kiss long enough to make him melt a little. There was nothing quite like seeing Claude leave the house with his cheeks flushed and that little smile on his lips, nothing quite like having the taste of Claude on his own lips for the rest of the morning.

And of course Dimitri took care of their place while Claude was at work. Of course he did the grocery shopping, the cooking, the laundry. He had always been privileged, but he had never been the sort to allow others to do all the work for him. This was his home, his home with the man he had loved for years, and he wanted to contribute to it.

Someday that might change. If, or when, he decided to go back to work, they’d figure out a way to share the load. It had already been difficult enough for him to convince Claude to let him do this much, after all. And that was all right - it made him happy to think of it, to think that Claude was so willing to support him no matter what he might want to do.

For now, this was good. This was enough. More than enough, really.

Growing up, he had believed that the only way he could feel as if he’d done enough would be if he succeeded in just the way he was expected to. He had thought that was the only path that could satisfy him. But deep down, perhaps, he had always known that wasn’t really the case.

 _This_ was satisfying in a way he had not expected. Picking out just the right fruit. Making a recipe perfectly, watching Claude’s face light up. Watering their plants, seeing them grow. Keeping the house in order, warm and welcoming and safe.

He had not considered himself domestic before this. He had not known that was even an option, not for him. But here, with Claude, he was happy. It wasn’t only because of Claude, and what he did was not only for Claude - it was for himself, too. Because he found it satisfying. Because it made him happy.

He had not known that these small things could bring him so much joy.

That evening, the peaches Dimitri had carefully picked out during his afternoon shopping trip sat in a bowl on the table. He was in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner, when Claude came home.

“Finally, the weekend!” Dimitri heard the familiar sound of Claude kicking his shoes off and dropping his work bag near the door. “This week went on for ages. I can’t believe I survived.”

Claude loved his work, but with the tensions between Almyra and Fódlan quietly rising, it had become a point of stress for him as well. Dimitri leaned out of the kitchen just far enough to see Claude, to smile at him. “I’m glad you’re home, too. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Claude looked tired, but even so, he caught Dimitri’s smile and returned it with his own. Claude’s real smiles could light up a room. Dimitri knew he was especially weak to them - the first time Claude had smiled at him, had _really_ smiled, he’d gone totally tongue-tied.

“Thanks, Dima,” Claude said, and he said it with a genuine honesty that filled Dimitri with warmth. “I’m really hungry. Had to skip lunch, our strategy session went long.”

“There’s fruit on the table.” Dimitri ducked back into the kitchen. Claude had always been good at taking care of him, but he wasn’t as good at taking care of himself - though Dimitri supposed that was only fair, since the same could be said about Dimitri. He quite enjoyed taking care of Claude, but did not find the same pleasure in it if it was only for himself.

“I was thinking we could go out tomorrow. Maybe to that cafe you like? It feels like it’s been awhile since we’ve been there.” He could hear Claude move into the dining room, hovering by the table. “Wow, these look good.”

The quiet, off-hand compliment made Dimitri smile. “That would be nice. It’s supposed to be a sunny day - maybe a walk by the lake first?”

“Sounds perfect,” Claude said. He wandered into the kitchen, smiling. In one hand was a peach, a bite already taken out of it, juice dripping down his fingers. He stepped in close and Dimitri set down his knife, reached out, and caught Claude around the waist. Claude sighed in pleasure, pressing in close.

“I really like coming home to you,” he said, soft and sweet and just a tiny bit embarrassed. 

The warmth in Dimitri’s chest blossomed into something as hot and life-giving as the sun, and when he leaned down for a kiss, Claude tasted of perfectly ripe peaches.


End file.
